


The Assassin Comes to Play

by xseaxwitchx



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Human AU, demon hunter AU, middle-ages AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 08:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13520136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xseaxwitchx/pseuds/xseaxwitchx
Summary: A Middle-Ages AU mixed with a Demon Hunter AU. Also, an “everyone is human” AU. All mashed together. A sort-of retelling of Angor Rot’s return in those AUs.





	The Assassin Comes to Play

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hey, hey! My first Trollhunters fanfic! I took a, uh, dark approach to this; nothing too serious, but dark in terms of what the audience is supposed to feel (basically descriptors). Don’t worry, there’s some fluff, too. No, I'm not plagiarizing or stealing, I just finally got an ao3 account. I have a tumblr by the same username if y'all wanna drop by to say hi.

“He just had to be imprisoned underneath a crumbled castle. Nothing is ever easy, is it, Luna?”

The midnight-furred cat looked up at him, blinking slowly, and meowed back, understanding her master’s words. She tilted her head, almost mockingly. He eyed his familiar as a grunt echoed through the small hall from his throat in unamused acknowledgment.

The two continued their walk, Strickler occasionally moving a few crumbled pieces to ease the pathway. His cloak sometimes snagged on a piece of building and a string of curses would escape his lips as he tugged his cloak free at the amusement of his familiar.

Dust from the wreckage settled in his graying strands and musky robes. Grime coated the bottom of his robes and cloak from the trek to the entrance through not-so-pleasant surprise traps. The shoes bound to his feet made little to no noise, but utterly destroyed; he planned on getting new ones when he got back into town. The dagger looped to his loose belt swung with every step, softly hitting his thigh every other step. In one hand he held an orange flame, bright enough to illuminate the surroundings but soft enough to prevent squinting in brightness.

Not surprisingly, Luna’s coat remained clean thanks to a spell Strickler placed on her to prevent any damage to his familiar and, as petty as it sounds, the spell also covered simple things as dust. She tentatively sauntered next to her master, eyes scanning the ground and careful to avoid anything that might be unpleasant with graceful leaps. Her eyes glowed faintly of forest green, showing she’s been taken as a familiar.

Both creatures trudged forward, following the hallway that eventually gave way to solid earth and underground plants of varying species. The air pressure increased, making it difficult for Strickler to breathe. His mouth moved, uttering an incantation that allowed the atmosphere in his immediate vicinity easier to breathe; he did the same for Luna.

After a few steps of continuing onward, they came to a fork. “Hmm, which way to go?” Strickler murmured to himself. He looked down at Luna who busied herself with scratching the wall and meowing for his attention. His brow raised as his eyes lifted to the piece of compact dirt that served as a wall. Subconsciously his feet brought him closer.

In crude drawing fashion, pictures decorated the wall and seemed to dance with the flicker of Strickler’s flame. Wait, the flame shouldn’t be flickering–no wind, no doubt in my magic stability, thought him suspiciously. When he looked back down, Luna disappeared from her previous place of occupation. Slight panic rose from his stomach as he frantically searched for his familiar.

A faint breeze began to play with his air and swish his robes.

_If thee seek thy name of damnation,_

Strickler startled, fear replacing his panic as whispered voices filled his head that belonged not to him.

_If thee dare play thy Devil’s flame,_

His heart hammered against his ribs, each pump faster than the last.

_Go forth in the corridor_

A light sheen of slight started to trickle down his back, rapidly soaking the nape of his neck.

_Overgrown with stench of sulfur_

His breathing hastened, chest rapidly rising and falling, each breath seemingly matching the beat of his heart.

_And light of grey._

Dead silence. Dead stillness.

As if death itself hung in the air.

He lost the ability to think, to breathe, to move. Everything ended as soon as it started. And he hated it. An uneasiness planted itself in both the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind.

“L-Luna? Are you…are you still here?”

Nothing.

No meowing, no soft green glow, no scratching.

Nothing.

The chant repeated itself, but this time, no theatrics. Just the voices that whispered, each line growing stronger and drawn out and punctuated with hissing. After the last line finished, Strickler gulped, then took a tentative step forward. He remained unsure of which corridor to take. He took a minute to observe each hallway with the light he increased in size subconsciously.

His back went rigid as he sworn he felt a clawed hand grab his right shoulder. But he could not move, no matter how hard he tried.

The voices invaded his mind once more, sounding angry, impatient, bouncing against his skull as each line grew with more shrillness than the last. With each passing word, Strickler’s skin crawled and prickled with terror. A single voice, a woman’s, delivered the last line, volume decrescendoing with each word until the last nothing more than a whisper.

He met silence once more, but the hand never left. A presence pushed on his back and he swore he felt warm breath fanning his ear. His eyes remained wide, staring into the seemingly endless void of the corridor. “Choose,” a voice by his ear hissed.

Strickler jumped, turning around to confront the person or entity there, but found no one, not even a trace of someone or something being there. He struggled to get his breathing under control, well aware Luna disappeared and he now had to journey alone.

He took approximately 30 seconds to examine each hallway, settling with going forward in the left.

***

As he journeyed, he felt eyes watching him from the walls. Watching and waiting.

The closer he came to the end of the corridor, the more faint light he could see. He chose to put his flame out, opting to fixate on the light.

A few more steps and he stood at the threshold. He could see the room, but not. His brain processed a picture, but his eyes stared at a gray-illuminated slate that blocked the entrance.

He took a deep breath and reached his hand out. His eyes widen a little as his hand passed through the slate into a room that had a temperature that ran freezing. The drastic temperature change prickled at his skin, leaving goosebumps all over his body. He retracted his hand.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he stepped through the threshold. The temperature drop caused his eyelids to jump open. He let out a few heavy breaths, clearly seeing the fog each made in front of his face. Involuntarily, he rubbed his hands together, blowing on them to keep them warm albeit wearing fingerless gloves. He took note of the grayish light that settled on the room, eerily illuminating what wanted to be illuminated and keeping secrets within crevices.

His eyes slowly roamed around the site in front of him. At each wall a set of five-tier stone benches stood, running the length of the wall which he would wager was about 30 feet. An observation balcony was mounted to the back wall, torn cloth swaying and flapping in nonexistent wind despite the cold temperature. In the center, his prize.

Raised on a three-foot pedestal, a human-like structure. Its shoulders were broad, arms muscular, torso narrowing. The legs held defined muscle, thick thighs, and smooth calves. The head possessed masculine features completed with a sharp jawline. It seemed the only clothes the statue wore were a sort of too small shirt, tights, and a large sash that served as a belt tied around his waist, hiding the hem of the shirt and the beginning of the pants. His feet possessed what might’ve been feeble shoes. The statue kneeled, head bowed with sculpted hair hiding his face; pure iron shackles adorned his wrists as his arms were pulled out from either side, chains connected to the floor.

Strickler, after closely inspecting the structure, knelt down in front of it, reading the metal plate.

_Angor Rot. Assassin of the Dark Lord._

_Imprisoned for Treason Against the High Priestess._

Strickler smirked, slowly rising to his feet. “Oh, how the mighty truly fall,” he sullenly told the empty room.

He placed his hood on his head, then took the dagger from his belt. Latin words fell from his lips as he paced around the pedestal once, twice, thrice. He stopped once more in front of the statue, facing the bowing head. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he finished the incantation. The slice diagonally across his hand with the dagger could be heard in the deadly silence of the room.

The dagger was fitted back into its original place on his belt, as he climbed onto the pedestal, then shimmied his way to look directly into the statue’s face. He took a swipe of blood from his hand with the opposite index finger, then carefully swiped it across one of the statue’s eyes. He repeated his actions for the other eye.

He shimmied back out from under the statue. Tearing off a piece of cloth from his cloak, he tenderly wrapped his hand, shaking slightly. He looked up at the statue once more.

“I, Strickler, now command thee, Angor Rot, Assassin of the Dark Lord, and free thee from thy bonds.”

Strickler watched with barely-contained anticipation as the stone gave way to living, breathing flesh. Rugged breaths escaped Angor’s lungs as he sucked in as much air as possible and let it out just as fast. His head snapped up, eyes darting around to take in long lost people, entities, scenes that no longer exist but in his mind. He frantically pulled at his chains, letting out an unearthly growl when they did not bend to his will.

The golden eyes of the man on the pedestal met the vibrant green eyes of the man now his master. Anger flared inside Angor Rot, causing another growl to escape his throat. His breathing remained erratic, and he quickly worked up a sweat that forced the shirt to cling to his back and the shackles to leave rust smeared on his wrists, the iron groaning at the strain.

Strickler smirked at his success. “Calm yourself, Angor. No need to panic.” Strickler stayed glued to his spot, safely away from Angor Rot. The assassin started taking deep breaths in attempts to even out his breathing.

“Who there be to command the assassin of old?” Angor Rot spoke. His voice came out gravely, throat sore from lack of usage, causing his voice to reverberate around the room, sending chills down Strickler’s spine.

“Waltolemew Strickler of Arcadia Oaks, loyal to his Dark Lord, be here to command the assassin of old,” Strickler said in his most confident voice.

“If he be who he says, unchain me, and not shall I lay a finger on thy flesh,” Angor Rot said.

Strickler moved forward cautiously, muttering a spell under his breath to break the chains. The shackles around Angor’s wrists broke, and he rolled them around to regain feeling and stretch his muscles.

Swiftly he climbed down the pedestal, making his way slowly towards Strickler (not with lack of tripping, mind you) and standing dutifully in front of the human.

Angor easily towered over Strickler at well over 6’4”, dark chocolate skin ashy, as if permanently covered in a fine layer of dust from stone. He crossed his arms, then looked down at the other man.

“Why is it you wake me from my slumber and free me of my stone prison?”

“I have a task for you, Angor Rot, and it will prove to be worthwhile.”

“What have you to ensure my cooperation and employment?”

Strickler holds up the dagger from earlier, still attached to his leather belt, stained with his blood, the metal shining in the artificial light of something not good. “The only way to free you, of course. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Angor Rot’s nostrils flared at seeing the dagger, knowing the soul trapped within the blade; the Druids placed his soul into that dagger, and as far as anyone knew, no way existed for his soul to be free.

“Take me back to your humble abode, and there, I shall know your intent. And food and drink,” said Angor hotly, moving past Strickler and to the wall which…should have a door?

Strickler knew where he came in from, but no door cut into the wall. That is until Angor drew sigils over a particular area that then opened to the outside air, stars gleaming and the moon shining brightly and fully, illuminating the grassy earth.

Angor strolled outside, soon followed by an intrigued Strickler. This journey so far proved to be interesting.

***

“Why do I always have to come to market to collect some food? Why can’t mother do this?” Jim complained while inspecting an apple. Blinky eyed him carefully, not saying anything. Lately, Jim has been in a mood and Blinky wished he knew why. It was uncharacteristic of the young lad to complain about an errand like this.

Jim threw ten apples into his basket, handing over the correct amount of change to pay for them. He smiled at the vendor, then walked away, Blinky trailing after him.

“What has got you so upset, Master Jim?” Blinky asked as they casually strolled through the various vendors, each with their own smell and sight and sound. Today, like any other day, the market remained busy, chatter filling the air, fresh-baked wheat bread and apple pie wafting through the air, tickling everyone’s noses and prodding their stomachs, and bursts of orange, blue, purple, magenta, and anything not earth tones.

“Please, Blinky, I asked you not to call me that in public. And for what’s bothering me? Oh, I don’t know, maybe the stress of being the demon hunter is getting to me; maybe I’m gonna finally snap; maybe I’ll go fling myself off the fort.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, James; you won’t make it past the guards.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Blinky.”

“Anytime, my boy.”

“As for what’s bothering me: Claire and I may or may not have gotten caught behind Ol’ Sal’s doing…things.”

“What kind of things?”

“It’s not like he was using them, okay?! We were rummaging through his trash bin for any glass we could use for a project.”

“He is a very unpleasant man.”

“He’s a pain in my butt is what he is.”

“Be nice, Jim.”

After that, the pair walked in silence all the way back to the gates to head back to the farmhouse. A cart passed them on their way out of the castle town square, wheels rattling against the cobblestones that started at the gates’ entrance, a black cat sitting with the owner. Jim’s eyes followed the cart momentarily, though he felt the cat staring at him, before switching back to look ahead.

“James, are the stresses of being the Demon Hunter truly getting to you? You know you can talk to me about these things,” Blinky said, not looking at the younger man, but his voice carried all the same.

“I mean not really, no,” replied Jim, “I was mostly joking.”

“Good. We need you in top shape to fight those battles. Although, you do need more meat on those sticks you call legs.”

“Blinky!” exclaimed Jim exasperatedly.

Blinky just gave a hearty laugh, pulling Jim into his side, arm around his shoulders, comfortable silence befalling them once more.

***

It took awhile to get back to the farmhouse, the sun just kissing the horizon as they walk through the front door. “Mom! I’m home!” yelled Jim.

Barbara, his mother, came from around the corner, a towel in her hands, drying them off. She smiled sweetly, tossing the towel on the dining table and brought in both boys for a hug. “I appreciate you boys doing that for me,” she cooed.

“No problem, mom.” Jim kissed her on the cheek. “What do you need me to do right now?”

“Well,” she thought, tapping a forefinger to her chin, “you could go refresh the garden and pull any weeds you see. After that, please do take care of Mary; the old girl’s kicking at her hay and bucket again.”

Jim ran out the door, leaving it wide open and Blinky and Barbara alone together. “This was no problem, Barbara,” Blinky stated, turning to fully face her.

“Hmm,” she hummed as she inspected a couple of apples. “Unfortunately, he chose some rather slightly overripe ones. Oh well, apple pie tomorrow, then. Or small ones depending on how much flour I have left over.”

“That sounds lovely,” acknowledged Blinky.

She went over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for being here when Jim’s father…isn’t. I can tell the positive influence you have on him already.”

About a year and a half ago, Blinky and Jim told her everything about what he does. Sure, she freaked out a little and ended up fainting, but they finally convinced her of the truth and she took it rather well.

Blinky smiled, going outside to help Jim with his chores while Barbara went back to doing house chores.

***

“Alright, now that you had dinner, off to bed, young man,” his mother told him. He wiped his mouth, ensuring to loosen any stray crumbs from dinner. Jim pushed back his chair, got up, then kissed his mother’s cheek and gave her a hug before heading off to bed.

“G’night, Blinky!” he called over his shoulders as he headed upstairs.

After stripping off his clothes and settling into bed, he eavesdropped on the conversation below.

_“Am I giving him enough nutrition? I feel as if I’m not.”_

_“Why do you ask, Barbara? Why wonder such a thing?”_

_“He’s so…small for a 17-year-old boy. He’s shorter than I am…and scrawnier come to think of it.”_

_“He’ll grow more, I promise.”_

_“If you’re sure, Blinky. Good night.”_

_“Here, I’ll wash the dishes; you go to bed.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“No problem.”_

Jim turned on his side, facing the wall, huddled up under three blankets and pretending to be asleep. His mother got in the bed opposite his, rustling her blankets momentarily before sighing and closing her eyes.

Before he knew it, Jim fell fast asleep.

_A perfect circle. In the middle of the woods. Clear of vegetation or any form of life except him. He can’t move. He can’t escape the circle. A prison._

_He looks up as he hears branches creak and bushes rustle ever so slightly. He stars ahead at a lone figure taking his time coming towards Jim._

_No, stalking. Stalking his prey. And Jim didn’t like that._

_Before he could register what happened, a tall dark man appears before him. This man looks the part but certainly doesn’t feel it. Empty. The man feels empty._

_The man’s face split into a predatory grin as his eyes roam Jim’s body, inspecting him, looking into his soul almost._

_“So, thee be this age’s Demon Hunter? How disappointing,” the man taunts. He draws a knife from a strap on his thigh, spinning it to reflect the full moon that seemed to bend to his will. A glare shines in Jim’s eye, but he can’t flinch, and that proved a feeling he didn’t want to experience again._

_He feels the man behind him._

_“So thin, so weak.” A poke to the spine. Painful, but not hard enough to draw blood. “Why would Merlin choose someone like you? A pitiful nobody.” A jab to the shoulder. The man must’ve moved to his right side now. “Then again, I shouldn’t underestimate you, should I? Maybe you’re fast and nimble on those dainty feet. Strategy will be your best friend. I can already read your fighting style like a book.” The man places the tip of the knife to Jim’s cheek, pressing hard._

_The boy feels a small prick and a trickle of blood down his cheek. Blood as tears. Why is everything always symbolic? Why is he here? This is a nightmare, right? So why can’t he wake up? Why can’t he control this man?_

_“I assure you, young Demon Hunter, none of this is a dream. This is simply your astral form. However, you should know that whatever happens to your spirit, happens to your physical body as well. I will find you, Demon Hunter, and that day will be your doom.”_

Jim’s eyes shot open, meeting the wooden ceiling that groaned with what little wind blew. He brought a hand up to the right side of his face and sure enough, he felt the slip of a little blood. He stared at his finger despite not able to see anything. Whoever this man was, he was not to be crossed. His person screamed danger clearly.

Jim lifted his pillow, then rubbed both his finger and right side of his face there, hoping to hide it as long as possible.

His eyes slid shut into a dreamless sleep, knowing his days now remain numbered.


End file.
